


Laundry Day

by CR Noble (erudite12)



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, domestic!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just plotless domestic!dean fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> Word count: 800ish
> 
> Warnings: fluff, brief language probably, that is all
> 
> A/N: So I was doing laundry the other night and bam! Domestic!Dean invaded my brain. 
> 
> Thanks to @kaitlinthepotterhead for the beta!

You looked everywhere one could normally expect to find Dean. The kitchen was empty and his bedroom door was wide open with no sign of him. Hell, he wasn’t even in the dungeon. You guys were between cases, so you knew he wouldn’t be in the library, but you headed in that direction anyway. If nothing else, Sam would be there and he would be able to tell you where Dean had gone.

Living with two men wasn’t easy under most circumstances, but living with two men who were also hunters? It was certainly an adventure, especially since you did not hunt. You were home base; the research department of the operation, which didn’t bother you. In fact, you preferred the safety of the bunker and you read every book in the massive Men of Letters collection from cover to cover without being asked. The part that sucked sometimes was getting stuck with all the chores. Cooking, cleaning, laundry; you felt like the poster child for a woman’s work never being done.

You tried not to complain. Sam and Dean were out there risking their lives and saving the world every day. Who were you to complain about picking Dean’s dirty socks up off the floor? Truth be told, Sam didn’t really give you much to complain about. He was probably the cleanest guy you had ever known. You did his laundry, too, but for the most part, he cleaned up after himself. Dean, on the other hand… Would it kill him to put his boxers in the hamper?

“Hey, Sammy,” you said as you stepped into the library. He was lounging in one of the chairs, reading a thick lore book, with one long leg draped over the arm of the chair and his head resting against his hand. He looked up at you and smiled.

“Hay, Y/N. What’s up?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if you know where Dean is,” you said.

Sam let out an awkward laugh. “He… uh… last time I saw him he was doing laundry.”

“Wait, what?” you asked, sinking into the nearest chair. You were sure Sam was joking. “Does he even know how to do laundry?”

“Well, we did get along okay before you,” Sam teased, laughter still in his eyes.

“I just assumed you washed the clothes. Is he possessed? God, I’ve never seen Dean even attempt to clean something before.”

“I can’t really make much of an argument for him in that regard. He knows how, he just doesn’t like doing it.”

“Okay, well, I guess I’m gonna go check on Dean in the laundry room,” you said, still baffled by the idea of Dean doing chores. When you got to the laundry room, he wasn’t there, but the dryer was still warm to the touch and the washer was running. He had obviously gone elsewhere to fold whatever had been in the dryer. You wandered until you got to his bedroom door. You leaned against the frame and watched him.

Dean looked ridiculous and adorable holding a pillow between his chin and his chest while he pulled the sham onto it. He must have been concentrating pretty hard, because somehow he didn’t notice you standing in the door.

“You’re gonna make someone a fine house wife someday, Winchester,” you teased. He smiled, looking up at you as he tossed the pillow onto his bed.

“Well, I doubt that,” he replied, “but I get an A for effort right?” He winked at you as he finished making his bed.

“Why are you doing this, Dean?” You asked. “It’s not your style. Dirty socks and boxers on the floor; pile of dishes in the sink, that’s your style.” You walked into the room and sat on the edge of the freshly made bed.

“Well, I know you think that you don’t do much, Y/N,” he said, sitting down next to you, “but I thought you deserved a break. I mean, you clean up all my messes. That’s hard work enough.”

“It’s not that bad,” you protested, but Dean raised a hand to silence you.

“Seriously. I know how messy I am. And I know it bothers you, so I’m trying to be helpful.” He smiled at you and you couldn’t help but return it. It was kind of adorable, and really very sweet that he was doing this.

“Okay, so you’re saying I don’t have to do anything today? Like, nothing at all?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying. You just relax, I’m about to go start dinner.” Dean stood and started toward the door.

“Wait, you can cook, too? God, am I going to take advantage of this in the future.”


End file.
